Receptacle
by Grav
Summary: Just your standard DID. Except for the part where she could destroy Angel. Part One in the Full of Grace Cycle
1. Chapter One

A.N. This fic is set in the middle of a slightly skewed third season wherein Fred is not so bonkers, Lorne is in the credits, and Darla and any potential offspring are ignored.  
  
Angel has a pretty funky style. I tried to stick to it as best I could. Thanks to EO, and the Board in Other Jurisdictions.  
  
{indicates a blipvert, or change in scene}  
  
Disclaimer: The Angelverse belongs to Joss Whedon et al. Writing this story gets me nothing except behind on my papers.  
  
Spoilers: None really, but to be on the safe side, up to Season Three and the addition of Fred.  
  
Summary: Just you standard DID. Well, except for the part where she could destroy Angel.  
  
* * * * *  
  
It started as one voice. It always did. One solitary voice, calmly speaking in my head. It wasn't telling me something with words, but with feelings. The understanding I had with that voice went beyond language, beyond the human ability to force thoughts into words. I loved that voice, and I always fell under its spell.  
  
And then it would change.  
  
Another voice would begin to fill my head.  
  
And another.  
  
And another.  
  
And my head would fill with the cacophony of a hundred thousand voices, inundating me with their feelings. Toomuchtoomuchtoomuch! It hurt and they wouldn't go away. I screamed and screamed in my mind, trying to drown them out or force them away. It didn't work.  
  
Nothing did.  
  
* * * * *  
  
{A girl tosses in an institution bed. The building is made of gray stone. There is no moon. An orderly files papers at a desk.}  
  
"Let me out!" came the shout. "Let me out! Let me out!"  
  
The scream deteriorated into frantic sobbing. A pair of orderlies, dressed in deep blue scrubs, headed towards the door the shouts were coming from. Behind them, the doctor followed, fumbling with his keys. The crying grew louder and the occupant of the room began to hammer on the door.  
  
The doctor unlocked the door and opened it. Out dashed a young girl, her face streaked with tears. One of the orderlies grabbed her before she could run off, and she fell to her knees, sobbing with relief.  
  
"She's doing it again," she moaned. "The monsters come for her when she's sleeping, and they'll take me too."  
  
"Can you give her something, doctor?" asked the orderly, "She'll never sleep like this."  
  
"Here," said the doctor, handing him a pill, "Take her to that free room in the other hall. I'll leave a note for days that she's to be moved permanently. It isn't healthy for her to live in that room."  
  
The orderly sighed, and began talking quietly to the girl. Finally, he persuaded her to accompany him, and they went away down the hall. The second orderly and the doctor entered the room.  
  
Lying in the bed, still as stone, was a girl of about 20 years of age. Her red hair spread across the white pillow-case was the brightest thing in the sterile, white walled room. The name plate on the end of the bed read "Hannah Cormier".  
  
"Not bad for your first night," said the doctor to the orderly. "The nightmare appears to have stopped. Usually it takes at least three of us to medicate her."  
  
The doctor was measuring out a dose of pills with his back to the orderly. Accordingly, he did not notice when the orderly's forehead became pronounced, and his teeth sharpened. The doctor did notice the feral growl and the incisors on his neck, but by then it was too late.  
  
{LA skyline, with lights and cars. A tangled mass of red hair, and two hands bound together.}  
  
Angel picked up the sherds of a broken coffee mug and tossed them into the garbage can.  
  
"You really should try not to have anything in your hands when you do that," he said, lightly.  
  
"Thanks," grated Cordelia, hand held to her temple in a futile attempt to numb the pain.  
  
"What did you see?"  
  
"Red hair, tied hands, grayish basement walls," Cordelia recited. "Decorating nightmare, generic vision. You're welcome."  
  
"That isn't very specific," Wesley pointed out. She glared at him. "But it was an excellent description, Cordelia."  
  
The door of the lobby opened, and Lorne entered.  
  
"Morning all," he said cheerily, removing his baby blue hat and coat and hanging them up. "Have a look at this."  
  
Angel caught the newspaper as it flew through the air.  
  
"What exactly am I looking for?" he asked, examining the cover.  
  
"It's on page A26," Lorne offered, adding coffee to his sugar. "It's not exactly local."  
  
Angel flipped a few pages, and then began to recite the pertinent details for his audience.  
  
"Psychiatrist found murdered at the psychiatric hospital in Montreal. . .in a patient's room. . .patient is missing, as is one of the two orderlies on duty on that floor last night. . .cause of death was exsanguination from two small puncture wounds on his neck, though there was little blood at the scene. . .etc."  
  
Lorne looked at him expectantly.  
  
"It's a little out of our jurisdiction Lorne," Angel protested.  
  
"But a psyche patient was kidnapped," said Gunn. "Or the patient was the vamp and the orderly. . ."  
  
"Is there a description of the patient?" Wesley asked.  
  
"Um, yes," Angel scanned the article. "She's twenty-three, five and half feet tall, red hair. It doesn't give her condition though, if that's what you meant."  
  
There was a smash as Cordelia dropped her water glass and grabbed her head with one hand, and the counter for support with the other.  
  
"Perhaps you shouldn't let her hold anything breakable," suggested Wesley, as Fred handed him the broom and he began to sweep up the pieces.  
  
"Or buy plastic cups," added Fred. "They crumple nicely."  
  
"When you're finished, could I have your attention?" Cordelia asked, acidly.  
  
"We're all ears, Cordy," Lorne said. "What did you see?"  
  
"The basement again. But this time, I can give you directions."  
  
{LA skyline. Vampire fighting Angel. Gunn with a crossbow. Sunset.}  
  
"What did it want?" asked Gunn, as he, Angel and Lorne drove off in search of Cordelia's basement. "Your sources don't usually come to you."  
  
"Klumqut's an old friend," Lorne said. "He wanted to tell me that something is coming."  
  
"Great," said Gunn sarcastically.  
  
"Hey, don't shoot the messenger."  
  
"Good or bad?" Angel asked, laconically.  
  
"Ambiguous," Lorne replied unhelpfully. "Could go either way."  
  
"I think your source needs a lesson in specifics," said Gunn.  
  
"It's better than nothing," said Angel, stopping the car. "We're a block away. Let's go."  
  
Gunn and Angel readied their weapons, and the three set off for the building Cordelia had described. There was a door on the side they were approaching, and it was flanked by windows, each emitting faint rays of light on to the street through the curtains. Gunn looked into the one on the left and saw three vampires who appeared to be guarding something that lay in a heap on the floor. He nodded to Angel, who kicked the door in.  
  
Firing his crossbow, Gunn dusted the vampire that was farthest from the door, and then joined Angel in taking on the other two, hand-to-hand. Lorne crossed the room to the figure and picked her up. He turned just as Angel and Gunn dispatched the remaining vampires, and they set off back to the Hyperion.  
  
{Cordy dropping the glass. Angel dusting a vamp. Lorne holding his head in pain. Glass shattering.}  
  
"Her name is Hannah Cormier," said Cordelia, looking at the medic alert bracelet.  
  
"She wasn't bitten," added Fred. "Just dosed with some sort of tranquilizer. She'll be fine when she wakes up."  
  
"If she wakes up," Wesley corrected. "There's a drug called amadosium in her system. It's mystical, and coupled with the tranquilizer, could keep her unconscious indefinitely."  
  
"Can you wake her?" Cordelia asked.  
  
"I'm sure I'd find something," began Wesley, but Angel cut him off.  
  
"I'm getting a strange feeling from her. Lorne, get back to your, uh. . ."  
  
"Klumqut?"  
  
"Yeah, and find out what she is. Then you can wake her, Wesley."  
  
"What are you feeling?" asked Fred.  
  
"I'm not really sure. It's a sort of pulling. Like she's trying to pull something out of me."  
  
"I'll see what I can dig up," said Lorne. "Want to go for a walk, Gunn?"  
  
Gunn nodded, and the two left.  
  
"Well, I guess I'll hit the books." Wesley said. "Fred, if we need to make something. . ."  
  
"I'll be right there."  
  
"I'm going to get some sleep," said Angel. "It was a long night."  
  
Cordelia and Fred, left alone, looked down at the figure in the bed.  
  
"I wonder if anyone misses her," Fred thought out loud.  
  
"Who knows," said Cordelia. "I'll see if I can dig up her records, but we'll probably have to wait until Wesley comes up with a way to wake her up."  
  
Fred shut the curtains and flicked the light switch on her way out the door. She looked back at Hannah, and then closed the door. There was work to do.  
  
* * * * *  
  
A.N. Well, what did we think? R&R SVP. 


	2. Chapter Two

A.N. I feel much more secure now. Editing is a wonderful process. It turns tripe into steak. I think I'll stay away from the metaphors. And sugar.  
  
Jaclyn, DID stands for Damsel in Distress. Philotetes says it in the Disney version of Hercules, but it's kind of cut off because Pegasus goes into a dive and Phil screams.  
  
* * * * *  
  
I remember panicking. Actually, it was more like a thousand people panicked, and I was right in the centre of the din. I was always so careful never to get scared. They're so loud when I am scared.  
  
I couldn't help it.  
  
And then I slept, and all was quiet. In an odd way, that was even worse. I hadn't slept alone in eight years, ever since the accident, and I found myself missing them terribly. But after a while, I decided it wasn't so bad. I would stay like this forever if it meant silence.  
  
Never wake up. Never wake up.  
  
* * * * *  
  
"I don't understand," said Gunn. "How is that possible."  
  
"I don't know. Klumqut wasn't very specific," Lorne said. "All I got out of him is that she's a sort of receptacle for souls. She can take them, give them, store them, whatever."  
  
"That explains the pulling," Angel said.  
  
"Not quite," said Wesley. "Aside from the amadosium keeping her asleep, it also takes her will away from her. She likely controls herself subconsciously, but the drug has taken that away. She doesn't know she's doing it."  
  
"Do you have an antidote?"  
  
"Wes has found a spell to purge the amadosium," Fred said. "And we've come up with a drug that should allow her to suppress the souls. We haven't had time to do much testing, but it should help her."  
  
"Suppress?"  
  
"According to her psych file, she has schizophrenia." Cordelia said. "It's probably the extra souls."  
  
"Anyway Angel, I don't think you should be here when we wake her up," Wesley concluded.  
  
"It's time to patrol anyway."  
  
"I'll go with you," Gunn volunteered. "I don't think I'll be much help here."  
  
"And I've got some appointments," said Lorne. "Not to mention that I am probably not the best face to wake up to."  
  
"Fred? Cordelia?" Wesley asked. The two looked at each other.  
  
"Yeah, we're in," Cordelia answered.  
  
"All right then, let's get going."  
  
{LA skyline. Wesley working a spell. Angel punching something in an alley.}  
  
"Ich befehle Sie, abtrete Ihren Einfluß nach diesem Körper!" Wesley intoned.  
  
Hannah's body spasmed, jerking roughly on the bed.  
  
"Did it work?" asked Fred.  
  
"No," replied Wesley in a short, strained voice. "Trust me, you'll know when it does."  
  
"Aren't you going to give her the drug?" Cordelia asked.  
  
"I'm not really comfortable shooting up an unconscious girl with an experimental drug and not giving her any chance to argue with me."  
  
"Point taken."  
  
"If you don't mind," said Wesley, turning back to the bed. "Ich befehle Sie, abtrete Ihren Einfluß nach diesem Körper!"  
  
Hannah's body jerked again, her back arched and she threw her head back into the pillow. She screamed, and then collapsed back into the bed.  
  
"I guess that's it," said Cordelia.  
  
Hannah's eyes flew open, and she sat straight up, her hands over her ears.  
  
"Get them out! Get them out!" she begged in a frantic half scream, "GetthemoutGetthemoutGetthemout!"  
  
"Hold her!" barked Wesley.  
  
Fred and Cordelia wrestled the squirming girl back onto the pillow as Wesley prepped the needle. He grabbed Hannah's arm, and injected the drug into a vein. It took effect quickly, and she stopped struggling.  
  
"Oh, thank God, you made them stop." Hannah said, sounding profoundly relieved. "Where am I?"  
  
"Los Angeles," Cordelia supplied.  
  
"Oh," said Hannah, turning to look at her. "And you are?"  
  
"I'm Cordelia, that's Fred and this is Wesley."  
  
"Hannah Cormier. How did you get them to stop?"  
  
"A spell and a drug," admitted Wesley, after the briefest hesitation. "You had been dosed with something that silenced the voices, but took away your will. Our drug and a modified spell lets you do both."  
  
"Magic, eh. That's something they never tried in the institution," Hannah said wryly.  
  
"We have some unusual resources," Fred told her. "I can't guarantee there won't be side effects. We had to invent it on pretty short notice."  
  
"For silence, I'll risk it," Hannah replied.  
  
"We didn't have time to make pills," Wesley apologized. "I'm afraid you're stuck with needles for a while."  
  
"I don't like swallowing pills much anyway. How did you find me?"  
  
"I get visions," Cordelia said. "I saw you and then Angel found you."  
  
"Angel?"  
  
"Our intrepid leader," Cordelia replied with only the faintest hint of sarcasm. "He's a vampire. But he's got a soul, so he's fairly safe."  
  
"So a psychic, a warlock, a vampire and a chemist saved me?"  
  
"And an anagogic demon, and Gunn," said Wesley. "He's very strong."  
  
"Actually, I am a physicist and Wesley's more of a bookworm," added Fred.  
  
"What are you people?"  
  
"That's going to take some time," Cordelia warned.  
  
"I'm not going anywhere."  
  
{Wesley shooting Hannah up. Lorne in a smoky bar with a hooded figure. Angel and Gunn back to back in an alley, stakes out.}  
  
"I don't think this is very effective," said Gunn, yawning and pocketing his stake.  
  
"Hopefully Lorne is having better luck," Angel said, "But you're right. Staking your source before they talk is a little backward."  
  
"They probably didn't know anything anyway."  
  
"Angel?" came a voice from the end of the alley.  
  
"How did you find us Lorne?" Gunn asked.  
  
"I followed the dust bunnies," he admitted. "I found how who took her."  
  
{Hyperion at night.}  
  
Fred noiselessly entered Hannah's room and opened the curtains. The pinkish light of pre-dawn Los Angeles didn't provide much illumination, but it was better than nothing. As she moved through the room, Fred unconsciously began to hum, and then to sing.  
  
"Are you sleeping? Are you sleeping? Brother John. Brother John. Morning bells are ringing. Morning bells are ringing. Ding, ding, dong. Ding, ding, dong."  
  
"We used to get in trouble for singing it that way."  
  
"Oh, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to wake you," apologized Fred. "Why?"  
  
"Because it's supposed to be sung in French," Hannah explained. "They're sticky about stuff like that in Quebec."  
  
"How does it go?"  
  
"Frère Jacques, Frère Jacques Dormez vous? Dormez vous?  
  
Sonnez les mantines. Sonnez les matines. Din, din, don. Din, din, don."  
  
{Aerial shot of the lobby}  
  
"We cut that awfully close," Angel pointed out.  
  
"Oh, I'd say you had at least another 30 seconds," said Gunn airily.  
  
"Let's find the others," suggested Lorne. He put his hand to his temple. "And some Tylenol. I'm getting a headache."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Oh who knows," Lorne said. "I was in some pretty interesting places last night. It's probably something I inhaled."  
  
Cordelia met them on the landing.  
  
"Did you find anything?" she asked.  
  
"Yes, but the story isn't so interesting that I want to tell it repeatedly," Lorne said. "Is she awake?"  
  
"She's alright. Our drug seems to be working, and she slept normally for about four hours."  
  
"Is she up and about?"  
  
"No, she's still recovering from the kidnapping. She says she doesn't remember eating or drinking much of anything."  
  
"Then we'll meet in her room. She needs to hear this as much as we do." Angel said.  
  
"Are you sure that's smart boss?" Gunn asked. "I mean it's going to be an odd story."  
  
"Wesley and Fred have already told her just about everything," Cordelia pointed out. "She took it very well. She'll be fine. Let me go ahead and close the curtains."  
  
Cordelia knocked on the door, and then entered. Wes and Fred were already inside.  
  
"Company!" she announced, crossing the room to pull the blinds. "All clear."  
  
Angel, Gunn and Lorne entered while Hannah set her teeth as she struggled to sit up. Even with Wesley's help it took obvious effort, but in the end she succeeded.  
  
"Hannah, these are Angel, Gunn and Lorne," Cordelia supplied, indicating each in turn.  
  
"Hi," Hannah said hesitantly. "Thank you."  
  
"No problem, peanut, it's kind of Angel's mission in life," Lorne said cheerily, before turning serious. "I talked with a Grekkian last night who said he had sold some amadosium to a man named Sheldon Sarkov. He told me where I could locate Sarkov, but it was close to dawn, and we needed more weapons anyway."  
  
"Ama-what?" Hannah interrupted.  
  
"The bad drug," Wesley informed her. "Can we trust this Grekkian?"  
  
"I interviewed him in a karaoke bar. He was telling the truth."  
  
"Lorne can read people when they sing." Fred said as an aside to Hannah, "It's part of the empathy thing we talked about earlier."  
  
"What did they want me for?" Hannah asked.  
  
"He didn't know specifics, just that they needed the drug. But there'd be a huge demand for someone with your, uh, abilities on the black market," Lorne said. "You're likely worth a lot of money."  
  
"Peachy."  
  
"You're safe with us," Angel told her.  
  
" 'Angels and ministers of grace defend us'?" Hannah said lightly.  
  
"Hey, I kinda like that," said Gunn.  
  
"A practical use for Hamlet has got to be a sign of the apocalypse," Cordelia said sardonically.  
  
"We're getting a little off topic here," Angel said. "Our plan for tonight is to track Sarkov, get answers and deal with him. Gunn, I want you to stay here in case they find out where Hannah is. The rest of us are going hunting."  
  
* * * * *  
  
A.N. For the purists, Wesley said "I command you, relinquish your hold upon this body!" in German because it was the only non-romantic language in the "normal" alphabet that babble fish let me do. And because German is a good language for issuing commands. Frère Jacques is a French folk song whose English lyrics I didn't know existed until fifth grade, and using Ministers of Grace as a short hand for every body was started by Strega over at TWoP. 


	3. Chapter Three

A.N. It was at this point in the writing that I completely panicked. Thanks to EO and Speedy for bailing me out. I would never have had the courage to do any of this without you. Also, to EJ who asked the question "what do you get a rabid fanfic writer for Christmas?", although I don't think he used the word 'rabid'.  
  
* * * * *  
  
I hate needles. There have been so many of them. The first was for an IV tube in my arm after the accident. One of my many broken bones was my jaw, which they had to wire shut. They couldn't feed me through a tube because my trachea was too badly damaged.  
  
After that, I lost track of what exactly the needles were for. Some sort of treatments I'd imagine. Nothing horrible like the insulin treatments they used to give people in my condition, but still, needles aren't something you can lose track of easily. And I had lost track of almost everything by that point. At least these needles were small, and almost painless. I could give them to myself, and in the likely event that I chickened out, I had people around whom I trusted to do it for me.  
  
It's odd that I trusted them all right away, but I did. My mother used to tell me never to take candy from strangers and to check my Halloween candy. I wonder what she'd say if she knew I was taking experimental drugs from a vampire. Ministers of Grace indeed.  
  
What it boils down to is that those needles buy me silence.  
  
I think I'm in love.  
  
* * * * *  
  
{Gunn looking out a window. Fred firing a gun. Wesley dusting a vampire.}  
  
"Is he always like that?" Hannah asked, carefully making her way down the grand stairway.  
  
"Who -- Angel?" replied Cordelia. "Oh no. Usually he just broods."  
  
"Are you all right?" Fred asked Hannah, who was leaning heavily on the banister.  
  
"Oh yes. I just have the worst coordination on the planet, and I really don't feel like falling down these nice hard marble stairs."  
  
"Fair enough. This is the lobby, obviously. Lorne keeps a fridge full of assorted drinks behind the counter, but smell everything before you drink it."  
  
Cordelia made a face, and Hannah giggled.  
  
"Hey, can you teach me the French part of the song?" Fred asked, taking a seat on one of the chairs in the lobby. "It sounds so much more poetic that way."  
  
"What song?" interjected Cordelia.  
  
" 'Are You Sleeping'," replied Fred. "Except she calls it 'Frère Jacques.'"  
  
"Sure," Hannah said with a smile.  
  
"Sing it through a couple times for me," requested Fred.  
  
"Frère Jacques, Frère Jacques  
  
Dormez vous? Dormez vous?  
  
Sonnez les matines. Sonnez les matines.  
  
Din, din, don. Din, din, don."  
  
{Hallway off the lobby}  
  
"How long do you have to wait between doses of Tylenol?" Lorne asked.  
  
"Four hours," replied Gunn. "But the bottle doesn't give directions for demons."  
  
"I thought your head ache was gone," Wesley said.  
  
"It was."  
  
{lobby}  
  
"Frère Jacques, Frère Jacques"  
  
{hallway}  
  
Lorne had both hands on his temples now, but he continued walking with the others. Angel looked concernedly at Wesley, but Wes could only shrug.  
  
{lobby}  
  
"Dormez vous? Dormez vous?"  
  
{hallway}  
  
Angel reached for the doorknob and turned it, opening the door into the lobby.  
  
{lobby}  
  
"Sonnez les matines. Sonnez les mat. . ."  
  
A keening shriek cut off the music lesson. The girls leapt to their feet in surprise, as Lorne collapsed and fell writhing to the ground.  
  
"What the. . ." began Cordelia, but Hannah had already figured it out.  
  
"I'm sorry," she said backing towards the stairs. "I'm so sorry. I didn't think."  
  
She turned and fled up the stairs.  
  
Lorne groaned and sat up. Fred wordlessly handed him the brandy that she had retrieved from behind the counter. He took a pull.  
  
"Thanks," he grated. "Wow, that was something else."  
  
"Are you OK?" asked Gunn, extending a hand to pull the stunned singer to his feet.  
  
"Yeah," came the reply, though it sounded like the exact opposite was true. "She caught me off-guard."  
  
"Can you guard against it?" Angel asked, sounding concerned.  
  
"There are precautions I can take."  
  
"Someone should go talk to her," Fred suggested. "She's really upset."  
  
"I'll go," volunteered Lorne.  
  
"Is that such a good idea?" Cordelia asked.  
  
"I can explain it to her better then you could, Princess," Lorne said it quietly, but in a tone that brooked no argument.  
  
{Lorne drinking brandy. A figure in a dark robe runs across a room. Cordelia dodges a punch.}  
  
Lorne knocked on the door of Hannah's room, and it fell open. The doors in the Hyperion did that sometimes. One can't expect a latch to last forever, after all.  
  
Hannah was on her bed, facing the wall. She had curled up in the fetal position, as though she expected the posture to protect her somehow. Her shoulders heaved ever so slightly, indicating that she was silently crying.  
  
"I'm sorry," she said without turning around. "I am so sorry."  
  
"There's no need to apologize, peanut," Lorne said, quietly entering the room and sitting on the bed.  
  
"But I could have. . ."  
  
"Made my head explode?" he cut her off sardonically. His voice turned serious. "Maybe. But I would have died the happiest cat around."  
  
"I don't understand."  
  
"Usually when I see a person's aura, their soul, it's cloudy. The beauty of it is hidden deep within. What I saw when you sang was the most indescribably beautiful thing I have ever seen."  
  
She finally rolled over and looked at him, her eyes wide and her face streaked with tears. He reached into his pocket, and then handed her a large purple handkerchief with orange polka dots. In spite of herself, she laughed, before sitting up to blow her nose.  
  
"Sing for me."  
  
She looked up at him, surprised.  
  
"I'll be OK," he said, taking her hand to reassure her. "I just have to be prepared for it."  
  
"You're sure?"  
  
"Peanut, to hear you sing is worth a thousand headaches."  
  
Reassured, Hannah glanced out her window to see the skyline, racking her brain for a song to sing. The sun had already cleared the horizon, and the sky was that perfect colour of blue, even through the LA smog and haze.  
  
She smiled.  
  
"Who will buy this wonderful morning?  
  
Such a sky you never did see.  
  
Who will tie it up in a ribbon  
  
And put it in a box for me?  
  
So I can see it at my leisure,  
  
Whenever things go wrong.  
  
So I can keep it as a treasure  
  
To last my whole life long.  
  
Who will buy this wonderful feeling?  
  
I'm so high, I swear I could fly.  
  
Me oh my, I don't want to lose it.  
  
So what am I to do  
  
To keep the sky so blue?  
  
There must be someone who will buy."  
  
{Who will buy this wonderful morning? Such a sky you never did see.}  
  
There was something therapeutic about whittling a stake. It was just a simple piece of wood, but once it was pointed, it became so much more. Gunn had saved his own life, and those of others, with just a little piece of wood like this one. It helped keep things in perspective.  
  
{Who will tie it up in a ribbon, And put it in a box for me?}  
  
Cordelia rolled her head around on her neck, trying to relieve some of the tension building in her muscles. She'd been on the computer for what felt like forever, and she'd come up with practically nothing on Sheldon Sarkov. She hated it when they flew blind. Maybe she'd get a vision. She wondered if Lorne had finished the Tylenol.  
  
{The'll never be a day so sunny, It could not happen twice.}  
  
Wesley shut the book with just a tad more force than was absolutely necessary. Nowhere in his prophecies, or in any of his writings was there talk of a girl with more than one soul. He didn't want her to be a threat to Angel, but he needed more information and didn't know where he was going to get it. He reached for the phone. Maybe Giles would know something.  
  
{Where is the man with all the money? It's cheap at half the price.}  
  
Swearing under her breath, Fred scraped her latest failed effort into one of the special containers Wes had spelled for potentially hazardous magical materials. The concoction simply would not go into solid form. Hannah had said she didn't mind needles, but Fred thought a pill would be easier. She needed to do something to help out.  
  
{Who will buy this wonderful feeling? I'm so high, I swear I could fly!}  
  
There were only so many times one could check one's weapons. Axes could only be so sharp, stakes could only be so pointed, and water could only be so holy. It was awkward sometimes, handling so many things that could kill him. . .more. But he did it anyway. Because he had to.  
  
{Me oh my, I don't want to lose it.}  
  
Lorne was still holding her hand, but his other was held to his temple, and he was grimacing slightly. She paused, and he smiled and waved her on.  
  
"So what am I to do  
  
To keep the sky so blue?  
  
There must be someone who will buy."  
  
* * * * *  
  
A.N. Frère Jacques is still a French folk song, and Who Will Buy is from Oliver the Musical.  
  
This is actually the part I visualized first, and then couldn't think how to make it physically possible, so I almost chickened out of writing it. I'm glad I did though. Are you? Tell me one way or the other. 


	4. Chapter Four

A.N. This story wrote itself. In my head anyway. The hard part was making it sound like it looked, and making it look like the show. Call me crazy (and you'd be right), but that's the perfectionist in me talking. Thanks to EO and Speedy (and anyone else in that house who might have read this), you rock!  
  
* * * * *  
  
I don't think I have ever sung like that before.  
  
I used to sing all the time. My mother had a great collection of Broadway musicals, and my dad probably owned every record ever put out by ABBA, the Beach Boys and the Beatles. I was singing when it happened. 'Help!' I think, ironically enough. I was singing the back-up, and suddenly there was spinning and screeching and a horrible whine. Somehow, at the end of it all, the radio still worked.  
  
The last thing I heard before my insanity was the opening chords of 'Yellow Submarine.'  
  
For the next eight years, I don't remember singing. It took too much effort to keep the voices under control. I didn't have time for anything else. When I woke up in the hospital, I was with it just enough to understand what they were telling me about my parents. They thought it was PTSD, and that it would eventually go away.  
  
So, of course, it didn't.  
  
But here, singing for Lorne, I felt much better. That might actually be the understatement of my life. I felt sane, and centred and in control. And I felt safe.  
  
Then, there was a knock on the door, and Wesley came in with my needle.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Angel set himself, and rammed against the door again. It still wouldn't give. He bit back a curse at the obvious noise and lack of surprise, and then Cordelia put a hand on his arm. Looking at Wesley, Angel stepped back, giving Wes enough room to blow the door open with a spelled powder he had been experimenting with.  
  
The results were somewhat extreme. The door didn't just splinter and burst, it vapourized, taking a fair chunk of the frame with it. It did the job however, and the five of them entered, weapons at the ready.  
  
They were set upon immediately by an assortment of creatures. Wes and Angel made short work of the two vampires, while Lorne took one out with his crossbow. Cordelia, sword drawn, stalked a Narchak demon, and while Fred distracted it with gunfire, ran it through.  
  
"Angel!" cried Fred, pointing across the room at a small man attempting to make a break for the exit.  
  
Angel began to cross the room, but Wesley was already there. With a low round-house kick, Wes tripped up the fleeing man, and by then, Angel was there to help restrain him.  
  
"What did you want her for, Sarkov?" Angel barked, his game face still on.  
  
"I don't know," squealed the captive. "I was just holding her, and making sure they got the drugs. They needed her for something. I don't know what."  
  
"Who is this 'they'?" Cordelia asked.  
  
"I don't know!" repeated Sarkov. "They told me they'd get me out of my drug trafficking charges if I did this for them."  
  
"Wolfram and Hart," grated Angel.  
  
"I tell you, I don't know anything!"  
  
"Sing," commanded Wesley.  
  
"I don't. . ."  
  
"I mean literally. Pick a song and sing it."  
  
"The eensy weensy spider went up the water spout," began Sarkov.  
  
"He's telling the truth," said Lorne.  
  
Wesley knocked Sarkov unconscious, and got to his feet.  
  
"Oh my God," burst out Fred, immediately attracting their attention. "The Hyperion. If Wolfram and Hart knew we'd track Sarkov. . ."  
  
"Let's go," said Angel.  
  
{Something carries Hannah over its shoulder. Wesley picks up a needle. Gunn takes an icepack off of his eye.}  
  
Consciousness came back slowly. Her head ached, but when she tried to touch it, she realized that her hands were tied behind her. She tried moving her legs. No luck there either. At least she could feel them, although she was quickly beginning to wish that she couldn't. She was sufficiently awake now to be aware of her surroundings. There wasn't much to go by. No windows. The dampness was characteristic of a basement, and the only light came from the crack under the only door.  
  
"Come on, think," she said, speaking out loud. "Think, think, think, think. I can sit here and wait for Cordy to get a vision, but there's no guarantee that'll happen. I've already had two of her visions, that's got to be a limit. There has got to be something I can do. There has to. . ."  
  
She straightened as much as she could, and took a deep breath.  
  
"O Canada, terre de nos aieux. . ."  
  
{Gunn fighting six ruffians. One of them knocks him across the room. He doesn't get up.}  
  
"I'm sorry, Angel," gasped Gunn, shifting the icepack to let him see a little. Fred immediately put it back over his eye. "There were at least 15 of them. We were in the lobby, and they just smashed in and took her."  
  
"It's OK," said Angel, his hand on the black man's shoulder. "You did everything you could."  
  
"Angel, if they inject her with amadosium again, she's going to have a horrible reaction if they don't purge her first," said Fred.  
  
"My God," said Wesley. "Did she take the needle Gunn?"  
  
"No," came the reply. "You said to wait until 10:00, and they came around 9:30."  
  
"How long until the drug wears off?" asked Cordelia.  
  
"About two hours," said Wesley. He looked at his watch. "She'll notice the effects around midnight, but she won't lose total control around one. Give or take. Angel, she could be a risk to you."  
  
"It's a risk we'll have to take," said Angel unequivocally. "I'll step back if I have to."  
  
"How are we supposed to find her in two hours, and then take her back if Angel can't help us?" burst out Lorne.  
  
They looked at him, shocked. He looked down in silent apology.  
  
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to snap. I have a headache." His head snapped up. "I have a headache!"  
  
Wesley looked at him excitedly, "Can you find her?"  
  
"Yeah, I think I can."  
  
{basement}  
  
It was getting harder to concentrate. For the first few minutes, she couldn't work out why. Then, she remembered Wesley's needle, which was probably sitting on her bedside table, still full. Her throat hurt. She had been singing for almost an hour. No one had told her to shut up. She hoped to God it was working.  
  
The voices were getting louder, and it was harder to drown them out by singing. She was running out of songs.  
  
"You took the works right out of my mouth,  
  
Oh it must have been while you were kissing me."  
  
{car}  
  
"You alright?" Fred asked Lorne.  
  
"I'll be fine," grated Lorne, hands on his horns. "Turn left."  
  
Angel turned the corner abruptly, causing the occupants of the back seat to smash to the right.  
  
"Hey!" exclaimed Cordelia. "We're tight enough back here."  
  
"I guess we're usually rescuing each other," Gunn hypothesized. "Maybe you should spring for a minivan Angel."  
  
"Over my undead body."  
  
"Right, Angel," Lorne said shortly. "Then the next left."  
  
The corner was a bit softer this time, and Cordelia's only outburst was a muted grunt.  
  
{basement}  
  
There were too many voices. Too many voices and not enough songs. She took a deep breath. In through the nose, out through the mouth.  
  
"I've heard there was a simple chord,  
  
That David played and it pleased the Lord.  
  
But you don't really care for music, do you?"  
  
{car}  
  
"How is your head, Lorne?" asked Wesley.  
  
"Better," came the reply. "Which is worse."  
  
"Hang on to her. We've got to be almost there."  
  
"Take the next right."  
  
{basement}  
  
She was crying now, it took so much effort to sing. Her throat hurt, her hands hurt, and the voices in her head weren't letting her sing. She bit her lip to give her something to focus on.  
  
"Young and beautiful, someday your looks will be gone.  
  
When the others turn you off, who'll be turning you on?"  
  
{street}  
  
The car screeched to a halt, and the occupants had jumped out almost before Angel had finished shifting into park.  
  
{basement}  
  
She couldn't hear herself think. The voices were too loud, and they blotted out the music. She tried to calm them down, to tell them they would be all right, but they ignored her. She screamed at them, but they wouldn't listen.  
  
She forgot how to sing.  
  
{street}  
  
"Dammit!" said Lorne. "I can't feel her."  
  
"Were we close?" asked Gunn, tossing Fred an axe.  
  
"Yes. She's in this building."  
  
"I can't feel her either," said Angel. "That's good, isn't it?"  
  
"It means she hasn't been dosed," said Wesley. "I have the needle."  
  
"Good. Let's go."  
  
{Hannah in the basement. Angel turning right. Tires screeching.}  
  
"Is she here?" asked a voice that sounded as though it persuaded children to eat poisoned candy on a daily basis.  
  
"Yes sir, and she's about ready for some more amadosium," said a henchvamp.  
  
"Good. Angel is on his way to rescue her. If he gets within 10 feet of her, she'll suck the soul right out of his body."  
  
"It didn't work like that last time," pointed out another henchvamp.  
  
"This time," said the voice, which had taken on tones of irritation as it emerged from beneath a black hood. "there is no tranquilizer, and the dose is much stronger."  
  
"How well does it work in a syringe?" asked Angel from the doorway.  
  
Immediately, the room filled with henchvamps, and the fight began. Three went straight for Angel, and he swung into action. Gunn, Cordelia and Fred surrounded two more in a corner, while Wesley picked off the ones in the back with his crossbow. The hooded figure made a break for a door at the back of the room. Lorne followed it and tackled it from behind.  
  
"Wesley!" he called, straining to hold the figure down.  
  
Wesley crossed the room, even as Angel dusted the last of the vampires attacking him and turned to help Fred and Cordelia, who had been separated from Gunn in the melee. Wes tried the handle on the door, and, upon discovering it was locked, set against it with his shoulder. Gunn caught up with Lorne and knocked the hooded figure unconscious with the butt of his axe, freeing Lorne to join Wesley.  
  
Hannah was screaming and sobbing, asking over and over for the voices to be silent. She thrashed about on the floor making an astonishing amount of movement for someone whose wrists and ankles were tied together.  
  
"Hold her still," said Wesley, prepping the needle. "We'll untie her after I've finished."  
  
As gently as he could, Lorne held Hannah in place, absently singing softly in her ear. It seemed to calm her slightly, reducing her cries to whimpers and moans. Angel, Gunn, Fred and Cordelia came into the room as Wesley took Hannah's arm and injected her. Discarding the needle and drawing his knife, Wes cut the ropes at Hannah's feet and arms, and helped Lorne carry her out of the basement, following the others to the street.  
  
"See, this is why my crew used a truck," said Gunn, not quite able to conceal the humour in his voice as he looked at the five-passenger car.  
  
Angel glowered, and then tossed him the keys. Wesley helped Lorne arrange Hannah in the back seat, and then held the door for Fred. Cordelia got in the passenger side.  
  
"Do you have money for a taxi?" she asked sweetly.  
  
"Come back for us Gunn," Angel said, ignoring her altogether. "Wes and I will have a closer look at the lawyer, or what ever he was."  
  
Wesley was pretty sure he heard Cordelia laughing as Gunn drove away.  
  
* * * * *  
  
A.N. It caused me no end of amusement to discover that 'weensy' is accepted by my spellchecker, and 'eensy' is not. 'The Eensy Weensy Spider' is a folk song, 'O Canada' is my national anthem, 'You Took the Words Right Out of My Mouth' is by Meatloaf, 'Love Will Keep Us Together' is by Neil Sedaka, and 'Hallelujah' is originally by Leonard Cohen.  
  
Is anybody out there? R&R si vous plait. 


	5. Epilogue

A.N. Well, we're almost done. I had fun. Did you?  
  
* * * * *  
  
I'm a terrible risk to them. I can see that now. If they had been one minute later, I would have taken Angel's soul the minute he broke down the door.  
  
I made Wesley tell me about Angelus when he got back to the hotel and came to check on me. I can't be responsible for bringing that back into the world. He didn't say it, but I could see the fear, the nagging doubts in his eyes.  
  
The selfish part of me doesn't want to go. This is the closest thing I've had to a home in eight years. I don't want to leave it, but I can't shake the feeling that I should.  
  
Fred says Wesley will find a way to give me total control. Cordelia says Angel can deal with another threat to his soul. Gunn says that they can protect me. Wesley says there's a place called Sunnydale where I might be safe. Lorne says I didn't eat enough of my breakfast. Angel didn't say anything. He didn't have to.  
  
I don't want to leave.  
  
* * * * *  
  
{Sun rising.}  
  
"I'm sure I've reached my rescue quota," Hannah said.  
  
"Oh don't worry about it," Cordelia shrugged. "It gives Fred and I a break."  
  
"Cordy!" Fred rebuked her.  
  
"It's all right." Hannah said.  
  
"You don't sound convinced," said Gunn.  
  
"I'm not."  
  
"Look at it this way," said Wesley. "If you stay with us and get kidnapped, we have a much better chance of finding you that if you leave and get kidnapped."  
  
"Thanks Wesley," she replied sardonically.  
  
"You aren't a burden any more than anyone else." Said Angel. "And I have had the threat of Angelus hanging over my head for a century. I can deal."  
  
"Besides," Fred pointed out. "If Wolfram and Hart wanted you so badly, staying with Angel is the best way I can think of to piss them off."  
  
"I'd be more comfortable if we knew what they wanted me for," Hannah said.  
  
"Well, all the hooded guy had on him was a business card, but if he was a lawyer, we can assume that the senior partners have done something nasty to him." Wesley offered. "And we do know that they wanted to take Angel's soul."  
  
"There's probably an apocalypse due," said Cordelia nonchalantly.  
  
"Isn't there always?"  
  
{LA skyline during the day. Hyperion. Lorne tackling the hooded figure.}  
  
He found her in the garden. It wasn't much of a garden, overgrown with weeds and untended for years, but the grass was green, and that was always reassuring. She was sitting on a stone bench that someone had cleared off at some point.  
  
"I'm glad you're staying," he said.  
  
"I think it's more dangerous if I leave," she said. "And it helps if I keep telling myself that."  
  
"Don't think like that," he berated her gently. "Angel can handle himself."  
  
"It's Angelus I'm worried about."  
  
"Look, people don't just show up here. There are forces, good forces who send Angel the help he needs. If you're here, it isn't random chance. There's a purpose."  
  
"That's a little reassuring."  
  
"You'll find your place, Peanut. Everybody does."  
  
"Now you're getting a bit too philosophical for me," she laughed. "I didn't get much sleep last night."  
  
"That's true," he agreed. "Can I have a song before bed time?"  
  
"Aren't you sick of that yet?"  
  
"Never."  
  
"Once I thought I'd like to be  
  
A blossom growing on a tree  
  
White and pink and lazy as can be.  
  
But I'd be king, just in the spring  
  
So now I think it over,  
  
Gee, I'm glad I'm no one else,  
  
Gee, I'm glad I'm no one else,  
  
Gee, I'm glad I'm no one else but me!"  
  
* * * * *  
  
I still wasn't, and we both new it as soon as I opened my mouth. But I was getting better.  
  
* * * * *  
  
~finis~  
  
A.N. 'No One Else But Me' is from Anne of Green Gables.  
  
OK, this story didn't get much of a reaction (REVIEW PLEASE!) but since I already have parts 2 and 3 written, you're getting them anyway. Still, a review or six might ensure that part 4 gets written before Christmas. 


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